


Sentimental Journey

by Lucky107



Series: San Antonio Rose [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7485885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky107/pseuds/Lucky107
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hollow breeze echoes through the hollow street and not a soul stirs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentimental Journey

**Author's Note:**

> Sentimental Journey - Doris Day - 1945

The California sun rains down across the dusty, barren wasteland without mercy.  The land is still, not a single gust of wind blows to relieve the heat, but not silent.  The repetitive and familiar 'thck' of a spade thrust roughly into the dry soil comes again.

It's hypnotic if not therapeutic and the teenager - no longer a girl, though not yet a woman - stands knee-deep in the red California earth.

The motion comes as an instinct now.

 _Just a little bit deeper..._ she tells herself.  She was at least three hours into the job when she could feel her sobs grow hoarse and thick.  Now, they're not even a whisper.

\- - -

A hollow breeze echoes through the hollow street and not a soul stirs.

Primm is a ghost town whose haunts are mere shells of their former selves - and that's all they will ever be.  Figuratively speaking, anyone who comes to Primm comes to Primm to live out the end of their livelihood because the town is renowned for swallowing its people whole.

Virginia supposes she's no different.

"Well, hello child!"  An aging woman stands behind the counter with a homely smile.  She looks like she should be holding a grandchild in each arm rather than standing alone at reception in a place like this.  "Would you like to place a delivery with the Mojave Express?"

Placing both hands onto the counter top, the young woman explains, "I'm lookin' for work, ma'am."

"Work?"  The older woman asks with skepticism.  "As in, a courier?  Child, look at yourself - you would never survive the Mojave like you are now."

When Virginia recoils with surprise, the woman laughs out loud - it's horribly mocking laughter, whether she intends it to be or not, but the notion is irrational.  Virginia is hungry and homeless and desperate—but she's desperate enough to take on the dangers of the wasteland if it gets her out of the desert.

"I can do it, ma'am," she insists, a little firmer this time.  "I've done it before 'n' I'll be damned if I don't do it again.  One way or another, I'll get to New Vegas."

\- - -

Darkness - nothingness - brings a sort of comfort to Virginia's tired mind.  With weightless limbs and a thoughtless mind, this refreshing numbing sensation crashes over her like a wave at high tide and Virginia can feel herself sigh.  The act is distant and insignificant, but for the first time in her life she feels honest relief.

It's as though some heavy weight has finally been removed from her chest and—

_... you awake?_

No, Virginia wants to say, though her lips won't move.  She's not awake - not yet - and a small part of her hopes that this is the tranquil transition between life and death.  If she could stay like this forever, in the blissful nothingness of—

_... if you can hear me, child, you gotta open your eyes for me._

Despite her weak struggle to escape the sound of coherent words, Virginia can't seem to close the sound out.  She doesn't know who the stranger is, but she knows she doesn't want to hear it; she doesn't want to hear anything right now.  She just wants to sleep.

However, she tries to peel her eyes open only to find an intense white light glaring back at her.  With a groan, she closes her eyes again and tries to close out the world for good.

She's still alive - that much is certain - but she doesn't know where she is or why.

The last memory she can recall with any clarity is waking up after being hit over the head and being greeted to the view of a distant New Vegas lighting up the night.  She'd thought and she'd prayed that it would be the last thing she ever saw when she saw the flash of the gun.

Now, she knows this isn't so.

With the last bit of strength Virginia can muster, she opens her eyes to find that the light is dim this time.  However, her vision is a blur and it's nearly impossible to make out anything around her.

"You're awake—how about that," the voice comes again, this time clearer and more distinct than before.

When a face finally comes into focus, it's that of a man.  His aging face with the odd tuft of white hair along the top belongs to none other than her grandfather.

Lying back into the soft, inviting pillow behind her, Virginia is seven years old again.  She's been here before: having just awoken from the shock of breaking her leg, her grandfather sits by her bedside until she wakes.  She's never been so alone as she was in the darkness of her empty conscious, but things are no longer dark and she's no longer alone.

The man blinks once, twice, before introducing himself: "Folks 'round here call me Doc Mitchell, little lady.  You got a name?"

"It's me," she murmurs, woozy and slurred.  "... Virginia."

Once again, her world goes dark.


End file.
